Fred and George's Wheezes
by HenryEvery
Summary: This will basically be a bunch of one-shots featuring Fred and George! No slash. May be rated T later for language.
1. Chapter 1: Filch's Demons

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; I am clearly not that awesome.

Also, I wrote this for my Extension English class, so its main focus is Gothicism/Romanticism. My later stories will be centred even more on Fred and George, but I already had this written, so I thought I'd put it up. I don't know how often I'll be able to update, since Year 12 doesn't leave that much room for recreational story writing, but I have a few stories in mind, so maybe I can get them written quickly. Anyway, on with the show!

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Filch's Demons

The cold metal chains shone in the dappled moonlight. Well-oiled manacles clanked and jingled as the pale, hunchbacked man suspended them from his stone roof and stood back to admire the effect. The manic glint in his eye intensified when he heard the familiar sound of his scrawny cat meowing at him.

'What is it, my sweet?' he asked eagerly. 'Students out of bed?' Picking up a lantern, he followed dutifully as the dust-coloured Mrs. Norris slinked back out of the room. Argus Filch hobbled and wheezed down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing on the ancient stone floor.

A sudden deafening CRASH followed closely by a door slamming shut threw Filch into a thunderous rage. He galloped ungainly toward the source of the cacophony and imagined a multitude of punishments he could inflict on the perpetrator. His mouth watered as he thought longingly of stringing them up by the ankles in his beloved manacles, and _oh, how he missed the screaming_. The clamor grew louder, and he wrenched open a door, only to narrowly dodge a chunk of gargoyle and half a suit of armour.

'PEEVES!' roared Filch. 'You insufferable fool! I'll have you kicked out this time! I thought you were a filthy first year.'

'Oooooh! Ickle firsties out of bed?!' cackled the poltergeist. 'Mischief making up for taking. Peeves will find them.' Peeves dropped the other half of the suit armour, which clanged loudly, and swooped out laughing.

'It's okay, my pet,' Filch said to Mrs. Norris, but the cat had already started off down the corridor again. Keys jingling in Filch's pocket, the odd couple worked their way through the castle, winding around darkened passageways and moving staircases until they found themselves at the large oak front door.

The caretaker produced a large, rusty key from his pocket and unlocked the door with a click. There was a great rumbling as the doors swung open to reveal a majestic starry night sky above an immense fog.

The two descended down a flight of stone steps and marched out of the castle. The night was still; only Filch's short, rough breaths broke the silence. The thick mist covered the grounds and was suspended, motionless above the vast expanse of the loch. The world was a wash of shadow and darkness that dissipated into the black of the water. The silence engulfed them as he peered around, trying to gain his bearings.

'Lead the way to the dirty troublemakers, my lovely.' He squinted as he shuffled after his precious cat, barely discernable now in the suffocating, dense fog. They struggled over rocky cliff heads and waded through overgrown shrubbery as soft, silent raindrops began to fall, dispelling the mist.

A flash of light split the sky, but now Filch could not see for the cascade of rain plummeting to Earth, drenching him to the bone. A follow-up deafening boom of thunder shook the ground beneath him and he gave chase to Mrs. Norris, shooting towards the forest for shelter. Panting, they retreated further into the cathedral of trees and Filch leant against the rough bark of a sycamore, trying to catch the breath that seemed to escape him. A drip trickled and quivered down his back and he shivered in the thick night air. The quietness suddenly seemed to engulf him again as the bower of trees created a canopy overhead, blocking out the din of the tumultuous storm.

'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Mrs. Norris,' whispered Filch. The cat merely hissed in reply and wandered deeper into the verdurous foliage and mossy glooms. The caretaker raised his archaic lantern so that the pathetic light it emanated flickered hopelessly on the worn out path before him, and he struggled after her.

They clambered over roots and fallen leaves, hearing nothing but breaking twigs underfoot, and Mrs. Norris, sniffing for students, guided them off the trail and into an open mob of trees, the storm breaking through the canopy viciously.

'I hope there are filthy students in here,' cried Filch over the tumult of the thunder and rain. 'Those disgusting beasts. One day, I'll be able to give them all the punishment they deserve. They think they own the world, they do, and know more than everybody else. And then they pretend to be innocent when it suits them. Revolting.'

The gaunt cat stopped short and began hissing and spitting furiously. Filch stopped short in his tracks, horrorstruck by what he saw; two sets of identical pale eyes and a blinding orange light. His heart beating furiously in his ears, Filch turned around and around in chaos, whimpering, as the demons circled him, wondering what they would do to him. An enormous clap of thunder resounded from above and he dropped to his knees, begging forgiveness. He blinked and the demons disappeared into the shadows.

Filch had never been a god-fearing man but as the rain washed over his face he began to turn over in his mind the things he would apologise for – especially the way he treated students. He realized he was hunched over and sobbing loudly, admitting the things he regretted out loud.

Great booms of laughter were sent ringing around the alcove. Something was thrown from behind a large tree trunk into the midst and Filch stared, petrified, as it exploded. Fireworks lit up the darkness and formed the shape of three letters – WWW.

The realisation set in. Filch howled with rage. 'WEASLEY!'

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This is my first fanfic, so please review =)


	2. Chapter 2: Custard Creams

Disclaimer: (Do I really have to do it every time?) I don't own Harry Potter. If only. =)

Okay, so, wow. I wrote this just then, so it's probably not very good, but it was in my head, and Fred and George are very persistent you see. This is set approxiamately January 11, 1981, and the twins are 2 years and 9 months old.

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Custard Creams

The Burrow was teeming with kids. And there was another on the way. Molly had just put Ron, the baby, down for his usual nap. She walked downstairs and looked into Percy's room; he was quietly reading a picture book, watching the images of wizards and dragons zoom around the pages. Molly waddled down another flight of stairs to find Bill and Charlie making forts out of sheets and pillows. She smiled to herself; Bill was getting so big now, he was almost old enough to go to Hogwarts.

She made her way calmly to the kitchen, deciding to do some baking, rubbing her belly absent mindedly. Although she had only just found out that she was pregnant, she was sure it would be a girl this time; she couldn't help but hope.

Humming to herself she found all the ingredients she would need, and marveled at how quiet the house was. Oh no. The house was quiet. What were Fred and George up to?

Suddenly she heard their cries and rushed upstairs, hoping to stop them before they woke Ron up. She found them in Bill's room, completely distraught. When they saw her enter, Bill and Charlie had enough sense to look sheepish.

'What's the matter?' Molly asked sternly.

Fred and George sniffed, teary eyed 'Play!'

Bill groaned. 'They want to play forts but they're too little! Aren't they, Mum?'

Molly sighed inwardly. Okay, maybe Bill wasn't quite so big yet. 'You are a bit young,' she said, hesitating when she saw the twins' crestfallen faces and, fearing another outburst, quickly continued. 'But don't worry; I have something you'll like even more.' And she stooped to pick them both up, balancing one on each hip.

Giving her eldest boys a severe look but leaving them to play, she carried Fred and George down to the kitchen and set them down in their high chairs next to the table, where she had spread out the ingredients.

'We're going to bake something,' she said kindly, wiping their tear-stained faces, relishing the fact that Ron had indeed not woken up. 'Custard creams.'

'Yum!' exclaimed Fred and George, the customary spark returning to their eyes.

Molly tottered around, putting ingredients together, allowing the twins to think they were helping, and yet they still managed to get flour and mixture all over themselves. In truth, it took her a lot longer than it would have normally without their "help", but they were happy, and forgotten all about making forts.

Licking their fingers from the now empty bowl, they chatted happily as they waited for the biscuits to cook, the warm smell of baking filling the Burrow.

'You eat and get cups!' giggled Fred, meaning hiccups, Molly knew.

'_You _hootin' owl!' teased George.

'Barkin' –'

'Spots! –'

'Furry –'

'Feathers –'

'Birdie!' they exclaimed together, and fell about laughing.

Molly chuckled at the idea of her sons turning into birds simply by eating biscuits, but cringed as she heard Ron's shrieks pierce through the house. Oh yes, he was definitely awake. She turned to the twins, and gave them a look they already knew off-by-heart, which clearly said 'Behave.'

She came back down a few moments later, putting a very sleepy and dazed Ron into yet-another-high-chair, and found that, for once, Fred and George had actually behaved. Apparently food was all the encouragement they needed.

A sudden buzzing noise told Molly that the biscuits had finished baking, and she took them out of the oven, leaving them to cool for a while, and then set them down on the table.

'Watch this,' she smiled mysteriously at the twins as she set down the cream on the table too, and the two exchanged mischievous grins.

With a flick of her wand, the custard cream spread itself between the biscuits, two at a time. Laughing, Fred and George clapped; Ron yawned.

Bill and Charlie came rumbling down the stairs, always having had impeccable timing when it came to the serving of food.

Fred and George didn't like this. 'NO!' they shouted, angrily 'No play!'

Ron began to tear up, so Molly quickly interjected. 'Maybe if you let them have some biscuits now, they'll let you play forts next time,' she said, giving Bill and Charlie a warning look which made them nod fervently.

Molly discreetly grabbed a couple of biscuits in a napkin and hid them in her pocket while the boys weren't looking, and headed upstairs with a quick 'leave some for your father.'

Knocking upon the door, she entered a tidy room where a boy with horn-rimmed glasses sat contentedly surrounded by brightly coloured picture books. Molly produced the hidden biscuits, receiving a huge grin from Percy. He took them politely and with a quick hug.

"Thank you Mummy,' he sighed happily, returning to his books.

When Molly returned downstairs she found her boys talking noisily and Ron with a plain, soggy biscuit in each hand and all over his face. She smiled cheerfully at her brightly-haired brood, wondering what it would be like if a girl was added to the mix…

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So, as you can see, I have tried to write about when Fred and George first thought up the idea for the Canary Creams, (even if they're really little) and I thought the idea that, despite their differences, their Mum teaching them to cook would be nice. Part of it also ties into another story I want to write, in this series.

If you're wondering, Bill is 10 and one and a half months old; Charlie is 8 and one months old; Pecy is 4 and almost six months; Ron is about ten months old; Molly is about four weeks pregnant with Ginny.

These ages are going by the HP Lexicon website, which bases their dates on JKR's so they should be right, however I'm really bad at math, so I could be wrong.

Also, I am seventeen, and definitely not a mother, so I'm sorry if what I've written isn't exactly right for how old the Weasley kids are, so I'm sorry if I've got that wrong too! =)

There was something else I had to say... oh yeah. I'm not British, so I'm just guessing when I wrote that Custard Creams are those biscuits with cream in the middle. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, though I probably won't re-write this.

Trust me when I say that getting these small details wrong annoys me more than it does you. Oh the trials of being a perfectionist...

Anyway, this is a massively long Author's note, I'm sorry. But please review!


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